Across the Airwaves
by Lassroyale
Summary: Dean's lost his brother to Hell, Castiel to Heaven, and he's on the brink of losing himself entirely to a world painted in the stark colors of his own despair. However, when he hears Jacob Glaser's (eerily familiar) voice on the radio one night, Dean finds himself drawing back from the edge.


"_The memory of you emerges from the night around me..."_  
**- Pablo Naruda (A Song of Despair).**

**"Across the Airwaves"**

**-VVV-**

The first time he hears the voice, Dean thinks he's finally lost the last thread of his sanity.

Admittedly it's been fraying for weeks, unraveling at an alarming rate; he manages to hide from Lisa and Ben at least, wearing a tired smile that's heavy with the effort it takes to summon it, hold it. Lisa, he thinks, knows more than she lets on, her dark eyes keen as she tracks his movements when she thinks he's not paying attention. She doesn't know everything, of course. Tragedy aside, a few encounters and a one-night stand doesn't give her insight into the full story of Dean Winchester.

She knows to enough to give him his space, at least, and so she does and without complaint.

Dean can't ask any more from her than that; than what he already has. Still, he's grateful for the small mercies; for the fact that she doesn't follow him when he wanders at night, restless.

His skin just doesn't fit right anymore. His body doesn't move how he remembers it. Dean roams far, ranging aimlessly under the cover of darkness, sometimes without moving at all. It's all a disjointed moments and rich memories; he's living more through sleep and dreams than when he's awake.

The night though…the night is haunted with footsteps that shadow his. It's filled with elusive laughter that burrows into the dark and settles into its folds. It's alive with the scrape of a stubbled cheek along his shoulder, the ghosting of cool breath against his inner thigh, the press of a thumb over the pulse point of his wrist. It's thick with the feeling of_ him_; the touch of dry lips on his hip, his jaw, his brow. If he tries, Dean can hear his whisper: _"It's okay, Dean. I've got you_," rough, gravelly, and warm across the back of his neck. _"You are not alone; I will always be with you."_ He can still feel the push of Castiel's palm on his chest, fingers splayed over his heart as if he was etching the rhythm into the pads of his finger.

It drives him to distraction until he can't bear to sleep with the memories that fold in on him. He'll lose himself completely that way, but the longer Dean wanders at night the more he begins to think he's already lost it all. It's natural to slide behind the steering wheel of the Impala and just drive.

So he does.

He doesn't run, because that's not Dean. Sam ran. It was always that way. It was always _his_ way; Sam's, not Dean's.

Dean doesn't run. If he does, he always returns.

He's the only one who does.

-VVV-

The first time he hears Jacob Glaser's voice, Dean's sitting in the driveway (Lisa's; theirs) with a beer and a half-eaten burger that tastes like a million other half-eaten drive-thru burger's he's had – maybe even a little worse. He's half awake and half asleep – in that special in-between place that Sammy used to say allowed one to look across some invisible boundary into an alternate universe. Dean used to joke with him, ask him what does another reality have that they don't have here.

Now the joke seems hollow, empty. Now he'd give anything to glimpse into that alternate reality. Now he'd give anything to see if maybe that world's Dean didn't lose his Sam; if maybe that world's Dean still had his brother.

Jacob Glaser's voice jerks him out of a long period of staring into the night and looking at nothing. The man's ranting about some conspiracy theory, using the words: "electromagnetic pulse" way too much in the space of a minute, and is in general sounding like a total crack on air. Dean isn't listening to his words, however. He can barely understand what he's saying, because all that he can hear over the sudden pounding of his pulse is the rise and fall of his voice.

It's unique.

It's _familiar_.

Jacob Glaser's voice is rough, but not whiskey-rough; it's a little smoother, less defined. It's almost Cas' voice, though without the unnatural stiffness and clipped tones that he would have expected. Jacob's voice is full of something vibrant, almost maniacal, and Dean places it after a moment: it's filled with the force of human passion.

After about 10 minutes or so, Dean can't stand to listen anymore so he snaps the radio off and goes back inside. He wakes up Lisa with brush of his lips across her shoulder, and gladly loses himself in her when she turns and opens beneath him. It's a distraction, a temporary reprieve from the ache of his life - thin gauze for the yawning, raw hurt that's been left within him by the two people he wanted most and who weren't coming back. He needs this, he_deserves_ this - or so he tells himself.

Even as the room fills with the sound of Lisa's throaty moans, Dean knows he's missing something.

-VVV-

Dean's back in the Impala the next night.

This time he drives a little bit down the street to one of his favorite empty spots along the side of the road. It's nice: he can pull his baby off onto the grass, sit on the hood and lean back, looking up at the vast array of stars winking down at him from their constellations. He's got a beer at his side, his hands folded behind his head, and the radio turned up.

Tonight, Jacob Glaser is chatting with callers and asking them if they've picked up any interesting EMP surges lately. '_Dude seriously likes his EMP's_', Dean thinks. The thought makes something within him _hurt_, and even though he can't really define the 'why' or 'what' of its sharpness, it makes him also want to smile.

It's something that Jacob says as his radio show is winding down, however, that makes Dean's chest tight. He knows Jacob isn't speaking to him - he's never even spoken to the guy - but somehow it feels personal. He's standing by the driver's side door when the words filter out into the early morning air in Jacob's low, intense voice.

_..."and for those of you listening out there, remember you're not alone. Remember we're not alone - and don't let anyone tell you you're crazy, either, because you're not. There's things out there people - believe you me. And one day, I'll prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt."_

He says more, but Dean's not listening. He's hunched down beside the Impala with his face in his hands, trying to hold everything in that he can't possibly keep at bay. Not all by himself, at least.

_...remember, you're not alone…_

A sob leaks from between his fingers and spills out into the crisp, pre-dawn air.

-VVV-

The next night, Dean calls in when Jacob opens up the lines. He almost gets right through, but when Jacob clicks him on air and says, "Hello caller, what do you have for me tonight?" he doesn't say anything. He just sits there and listens to the slight rasp of Jacob's breath, that undefinable sharpness back in his chest.

Before Jacob can say anything, Dean hangs up.

It goes on like that for a few more nights: Dean calling and hanging up before Jacob can say anything to him. It becomes almost routine: he calls at the same time each night, stays on for exactly twenty seconds and hangs up. It might have continued that way, if Jacob hadn't caught onto the pattern.

Dean calls on another night as he's pacing in the kitchen, the darkness still and quiet around him except for the occasional creaking groan of the house settling. This time when Jacob picks up, he greets Dean personally.

_"Hello mystery caller!"_ Jacob's voice rings clearly in Dean's ear, and echoes with a slight delay from the small speakers of the radio Lisa keeps in the kitchen. He hears, "How are you this evening?" almost simultaneously from his phone and from the radio.

It catches Dean off guard for a moment. His voice is tight, almost gruff as he cautiously answers. "Hey, uh, hello," he replies. His voice sounds alien to him as it issues from the speakers; it sounds old and weary. He brusquely snaps off the radio before slipping outside, shutting the front door quietly behind him and lowering himself heavily onto the top step of the porch.

He absently clears his throat. Jacob's answering chuckle is quiet in his ear.

_"I'm Dr. Jacob Glaser,"_ comes the reply. There's sort of sharp amusement in Jacob's tone when he continues. _"And I've been curious about you for quite some time, Mr. Caller."_

Dean's curious, so he bites. "Oh yeah?" he answers, letting the braggadocio bleed into his otherwise blunt tone. He settles into the role easily, too-easily; he's missed the games and the masquerades, even if he tells Lisa (himself) that he doesn't. "Why's that, Mr. Robot-Head?" In spite of himself, Dean feels a smile tug faintly at one corner of his mouth.

Jacob laughs, but its with a type of dry humor Dean thinks he can appreciate. "_At least you didn't say aliens,_" Jacob says. "You call around the same time every night, Mr. Mysterious Caller. I'm a scientist - you're pattern was easy to figure out." Dean can hear the shift in his voice, the curiosity that creeps in and then takes over. In that moment, he sounds exactly like Castiel as he asks, "So what's your name?"

Perhaps it's because he sounds too much like Cas right then, or perhaps there's no harm in talking to a crackpot conspiracy theorist whom nobody will believe anyway, that Dean tells him the truth. "My name's Dean Winchester," he replies.

Then he abruptly ends the call.

He doesn't call for several days.

-VVV-

When Dean does call again, Jacob picks right up where they left off.

_"Dean!"_ he greets. Dean can hear the smirk in Jacob's tone and he can't hold back his own sharp smile. He steers the Impala with one hand and watches the road ahead unfold in the glow of the headlights.

"Hey Doc," he replies, and he's genuinely surprised to find that he doesn't have to fake the warmth in his tone. "I hear people have been giving you a hard time about the EMP waves you've been picking up in Maine?"

That sets Jacob off and he goes off on a tangent that makes Dean want to laugh deep in his belly. It's good to listen to this stuff again. It was a bit like listening to Sam when he's uncovered an interesting bit of lore in one of Bobby's dusty tomes, voice full of passionate intensity. Though...it was also like listening to Castiel and his steadfast conviction as he spoke to Dean about God - the utter faith Jacob has in his theories echoes the utter faith he used to hear in Cas' tone.

It reminds him of the faith that Cas used to have in him.

"Wasn't enough," Dean mutters. Wasn't enough to make Cas stay with him. Wasn't enough for Cas to even say a proper goodbye. He can't bite back the distinct bitterness that cuts sharply through him, at the thought.

Dean curses when Jacob suddenly aborts his tirade and asks, "_What? Did you say something?_"

Suddenly, Dean is angry - just fucking _furious_ - and the floodgates open. And strangely, Jacob just lets him talk, lets him rant about stupid angelic dickheads and duty and responsibility, and, "What the fuck did I ever get from it, huh? Not even a goodbye, that's what!"

Dean rages until he's sick of it, until he can't want to say another word; until he feels physically exhausted. He feels numb from it all, scoured inside out; he feels purged. Dean pulls off on the side of the road and slams on the breaks, the Impala jerking to a sudden halt. He lets her idle in the gravel as he rests his head on the steering wheel; the leather is cool against the heat of his skin.

He forgets that he's even on the line, until Jacob's voice crackles over the radio. "_Wow...if I believed in angels, even_ I'd _say they're dicks._" Somehow, right then Jacob sounds just like Cas did when he confronted Lucifer, that Dean almost expects him to scream, 'Hey assbutt!' for no reason.

And then Dean's laughing, a deep, belly laugh that, sure, sounds really goddamn hysterical, even to him. But mostly it feels fucking good to just let go. At some point he realizes that Jacob has moved on to other topics and hangs up the phone, but he only tosses it on the seat next to him and lets his laughter turn into sobs that wrack his whole body.

-VVV-

When Dean calls again a few nights later, Jacob asks him about angels and something called, 'Ancient Astronaut Theory' that Dean thinks is total bullshit. He ends up talking a little bit about his past and a lot about Cas, and then a whole _helluva_ lot about Sam.

When he falls silent, he listens to Jacob's theories on natural energy grids and his beloved EMP's, and also about why the Mayans disappeared so suddenly. (_"See, it wasn't disease, nope, they reached such a high state of nirvana, began to vibrate at such a high frequency, that they transcended this physical plane._") When Dean asks where they (The Mayans; Sam...Cas) went Jacob just suggests that maybe they should launch an investigation to find out.

It doesn't sound like a bad idea at all.

Dean even buys a telescope so he can sit on the Impala's hood and look at the full moon, trying to see this stupid robot head that Jacob swears is there. He tells him it's not there and grins to himself when Jacob gets all huffy and irate on air. He can imagine him pointing at charts and drawing lines between things on a chalkboard - you know, whatever crazy scientists did in their basements at 2 in the morning. He asks him about that too, and Dean gets the reply that crazy scientists conducted experiments on how to cross into multiverse.

Dean's not really paying attention (he's looking up at the moon bright in the night sky - no robot head in sight) when he tells Jacob that you can see into an alternate reality when you're in that place between sleeping and waking. Jacob tells him that that's a load of bull. Dean's smile isn't as tight and the sharpness has faded from its corners, as he says that was always Sammy's theory. To that, Jacob grudgingly admits that there might be merit to it then, because it sounds like Sam was a good deal smarter than Dean about fringe theory.

The comment should hurt - and maybe it does, just a little - but not as much as it might have, even a week ago.

Eventually, Dean might be able to laugh at it.

-VVV-

Sometime later (Dean's been calling the show every night; he stopped counting after the dozenth time) Jacob tells Dean that he can't wait around for Cas forever. When he says it, there's a strange hitch in his voice; one which Dean recognizes, easily enough. He ignores it, though the sudden tightness in his chest is harder to ignore.

Dean lies and says he hardly misses him, and that he was just mad because after all that he'd done for Heaven or God or what-the-fuck-ever, Cas had just left without saying goodbye. It's a lie that scrapes roughly against his throat, making it dry and making his words snag on its uneven edges.

All Jacob says in reply is, "_Sure, Dean. I understand._".

Dean can hear the distance in his tone, and he knows he should say something, anything, but then there's a surge of callers about an unusual event at Stonehenge and the moment passes into obscurity.

-VVV-

Jacob calls him on his way to Stonehenge, and even though Dean can't remember when he'd given him his cell number, when he receives the call he's genuinely glad he did. Before he can even say 'hello', Jacob asks Dean why he first called into his talk show. There's tension in Jacob's voice; he sounds desperate. A sense of dread settles heavily in Dean's stomach, though he pushes his doubt aside and answers Jacob as honestly as he can.

"I called.." he begins, the words freeing themselves slowly, "because you sound just like _him._ Like Cas."

Jacob is silent on the other end of the line for a long moment, long enough that Dean thinks that the call might have been dropped. The silence stretches on for several more moments, when he finally speaks again. Jacob's voice is quiet and serious; it's _grave_, and the sound of it causes something to twist within Dean.

"Just remember that you're not alone, Dean. We're not alone in this world. I may not believe in angels or God or whatever...but...something's out there. I've gotta believe that." He pauses, then adds faintly, "Bye Dean." There's something unaccountably sad in his tone, but there's no time to comment on it.

"Bye Jacob," is all Dean manages to reply, just before he hears the dial tone.

-VVV-

Afterwards, Jacob's show isn't on the air for several days.

Every night, Dean dutifully turns his radio to the correct channel and waits.

He leaves it on dead air until the break of dawn the next morning.

_...remember, you're not alone…_

(The End.)


End file.
